


The shapes of you

by Sacirin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Lots of Descriptions, M/M, PWP, Poetic, Sex, Smut, Synesthesia, overly detailed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-08 01:43:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17972099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sacirin/pseuds/Sacirin
Summary: This is just shameless, impulsive, self-indulgent, overly detailed mind rendering of sex between these two. As much physical accurateness and dialogue realism as poetry and feeling. Lots of descriptions, metaphors and synaesthesia.





	The shapes of you

**Author's Note:**

> Not really related but, thanks to this post I found this hot freebatch AU manga, and I had to write something.

Naked. Gloriously naked and rubbing against each other. Exposed as much as possible, not only in the absence of protective clothing, but also because the doors of their souls had been wide open. Not as an exercise or proof of trust, but lovely dance with as much contact, physical or emotional, as there could be. Arms hugged, legs shifted as they rolled on the sheets. Hands whispered reverently over every surface they found, adventurers going down and tracing paths over hills and valleys, peaks and dips, sharp, smooth, scarred, hairy. In such closeness the heat feared not disperse and stayed with them like an innocent secret. And lips whispered too. Loving and sweet words, lost majorly in the void of a kiss, repeated so many times that they had started to believe them. Spilled out of their systems like through tears, strong as the impulse to kiss and touch and love.

They finally had some time together, and were very eager to spend it well. John might not have a mind palace to collect and catalogue data like Sherlock did from him, but he was also exploring the shapes of him. He put all his senses and focus to learning and being fascinated by Sherlock’s body, its roundnesses, its textures, its responses, and , of course, the man inside it.

Just the friction by itself was sparkling phosphorus, but when Sherlock begun thrusting his hips against his, it became too much too soon. John had to stop kissing his chest to bury his face in Sherlock’s shoulder. He didn’t feel like ending it like this, he was scared of his mouth running ahead of him and saying things he would regret, but he wanted to do something more this time. “Mmm, Sherlock-” he whimpered, brow furrowed “Oh love, you’re killing me.” Sherlock smirked proudly. “This is driving me crazy.” John whispered in his ear with croaky voice.

“I believe that’s good.” Sherlock rolled his hips harder that time making their breaths stutter and John bite his lip.

“Sherlock! I need-, I want...” John whined and pressed his head closer, rubbing against the side of Sherlock’s and his very messy and already wet mat of hair. Even though he was burning from the inside out with desire so much that he was going insane, he did add a bit of dramatism. He gulped in air and said “I really want to be inside you. If-if you want to too, of course. Do you feel like- do you want it?”

To be honest, he expected uncomfortable rejection. It took a few seconds, but Sherlock uttered a strong and resoluted ‘Yes.’

“Yes, really?” John looked at him with a wide smile.

“Yes, I’m ready. But let’s get moving.”

John placed a joyful kiss to the corner of his mouth, already sitting up, determined, taking initiative like a courteous gentleman. “You- you, um, want to...?”

“Hm, do you?”

John cleared his throat “I guess, don’t worry. We, we go slow, or...”

Sherlock sat up with his hands resting behind him “I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Ah!” Um, good. Well you never said-.

“Though it's been a very long time… Despite that you are clearly the experienced one… I don’t think I can assume you have experience with other than women?”

John looked down, a bit embarrassed, already going to the nightstand for supplies “Maybe. But this is my first time with you. And that’s all that I care about right now.” he leaned closer and kissed him “And I love you.” Sherlock didn’t say it as often, but the way he kissed back spoke with no words. John stroked a hand over Sherlock’s chest “Relax now, lay back.”  
Sherlock wasn't willing to lay back passively all the time and let things be done to him. They found an arrangement that was comfortable for both. Sherlock half reclined on his right side, pulling his leg up to give John more room. John squeezed a good amount of lube onto his hand and the awkward realness of the situation bursted through like a freezing draught. So he focused on his warm feelings to melt the rigid ice away. He was confident in his theoretical knowledge to take on the situation, but in the heat of the moment, it was not an exact science.  
He caressed the abundant globes of Sherlock’s gluteus. “You know, it should be illegal to be this handsome.”

“Oh, stop it, you’ve said it too many times.”

"And I will keep doing it, I don’t care." He smiled and leaned down to prepper kisses over his thigh and lower back as far as he could reach. His free hand accompanied his lips, making sure to paint every square centimetre of skin with his touch. “You're a bloody greek sculpture, you're too beautiful. Leave some for the rest.”

“Don't dare imply that about yourself.” John was a bit taken aback but felt flattered. Though that was not the infatuation talking, Sherlock just wasn't blind.

At the same time, John was gently stroking his forefinger to the inside of his cleft. He could’ve taken more precautions, but he was a though doctor, he had put his hands in much worse places. “Relax” he whispered against his skin between kisses.

”Come on, go ahead, I’m not made of glass.” Sherlock was getting frustrated.

“I know, but be patient, I want to do this right.” he took the opportunity to suck a mark to the side of his hip bone and introduce a bit of a finger.

Sherlock gasped but didn't flinch. "Is that good?" sounded so soft.

"Yes, keep going."

"Little by little, don't want to hurt you." Sherlock huffed annoyed.

John began to creep inch by inch up Sherlock's side, kissing his way up while his small fingers worked him lose so slowly that he wasn't even noticing. Sherlock tried to make his body to relax, his head hanging down, eyes closed and a small frown.

"You know - I've actually never done this - for pleasure." he stroked Sherlock's soft fuzzy perinneum with his thumb. "It's not the same - I know it's not the sexiest thing to say - but I'm glad I know how to probe an arsehole." He paused with his lips against skin every time he pushed a bit further or added a digit. His kissing path turned out to be completely errartic, diverting from the main direction, and that was what was annoying Sherlock at that point. He took it all surprisingly easily, only hissed and scrunched up his face a bit when the number of foreign objects inside his body rose to three. He didn't want to meet John's gaze still.

"Tell me, are you still tense? Am I doing this good?" Sherlock would've said he was getting too cocky "Do you like it?" he breathed those words next to Sherlock's ear in his perfected sexy voice.

"You have fully made sure of that , and I've told you it doesn't hurt. You already know."

"Yes, but I want to hear you say it." he kissed hotly behind his ear at the same time that he rubbed his inner wall in search for a sensitive spot. Sherlock's mouth fell open, it did feel good, but not right. He pulled away from John's mouth.

"No!"

"Sherlock?"

"Sorry, I- I don't want to just sit here... taking." his cheeks were scarlet.

"Oh. I see." he leaned back, giving Sherlock space to sit up too "Then..."

His eyes were cosltantly on Sherlock, on his movements. On the hand that reached out and touched his face, then traveled down to his chest. Sherlock's eyes were open just a slit, but jumped restlessly all over him, and settled on his lips. They inched towards each other and Sherlock conducted the kiss, meanwhile proceedings resumed in the lower zone. He played with his curly chest hair, an absolute delight when he rubbed his palm over it. If he stretched his hand he could touch both nipples at the same time. Teasing, slow, intense. He bit John's lip with his canine and pulled on it.

"Ready."

Eyes opened and systems restarted, clean and fresh. "Okay," John sat back on his heels and plotted in his head "rest on your back." he gently grabbed Sherlock's legs as they moved around to a more comfortable position "Um, I'm going to need to stretch one leg up. Which you want?"

Sherlock smirked "Either."

A chuckle escaped from John's throat at the prospect of fucking him eggie style "Ok, so this one." he hooked the the arch between forefinger and thumb under the tight back of his right knee, and pushed forward, more and more, and Sherlock wasn't joking about his flexibility. First john wondered were had he got it from, and stopped that train of thought when he started imagining in which other way they could use it for their advantage. Sherlock's body opened in front of him like a treasure chest, hiding the richest gems, utternly beautiful. He could tell that Sherlock wasn't still confident enough to expose himself like this, a part of him wanted to recoil back into himself like a spring, but the other part of him who wanted to love and be loved was winning, and reaching out for John's helping hand.

John had almost forgotten about his prick, lying useless on his lap, still hot and swollen. He gave it a few pumps to get it ready for battle again, then rolled a condom on it and coated it in a precautiously thick layer of lube, that was a must. Sherlock took air in deeply through his nose, closed his eyes and moved a hand above his head to brace against the wall. John's eyes turned worried, he stroked his free hand up and down his torso. "You sure you want to?"

"John, please." that deep voice could bend his reality.

John went ahead and shifted closer over Sherlock, lining himself up. He was barely pressing against the entrance, when he looked up at Sherlock with a worried lip, and something in his gut wasn't letting him do it. Not like that. "Sherlock, look at me. Open your eyes, please, my love." he needed him to open up completely not to hide anything of his heart and mind. He wanted, or rather needed to see how he felt in that moment.

Sherlock's eyes were the most saturated shade of blue and green they had ever been, and they were silent but full of emotion. John stood hovering mere centimetres above from his eyes. He pushed in a gentle but continuous powerful thrust. Time dilated in that instant. Eyelids threatened to fall shut, but their eyes never left each other. Pupils widened and faces morphed with pleasure. John reckoned he fell in love another ten times just then. He could've come from the intimacy of that. Sherlock's mouth had opened on its own, and a long pleased exhale drained from his lungs.

It was only half way in when Sherock went taut and flung his hands forwards over and under his shoulders to grab at John’s hips and stop them in place “I-is it bad? Does it hurt?” Sherlock hissed when he shifted a a matter of millimetres, firmly pressed against his walls, his rim burning. The word 'shit' echoed in John’s head, he felt like he had dared to walk on a tottering bridge, building it as he went, and it had given in under his feet and he was free falling into a dark canyon. He was already clenching around him. This was not going well, they shouldn't have done this, and he hated himself “We can stop.”

“Is fine, is fine.” he squirmed and the feel of its girth made him gasp. It had been easier to objectify the process invloving his anus and John's penis when they were separated. Now that that hot meat dagger was getting inside him, stretching in ways that weren't supposed tobe possible, the perception changed to only sensations that he couldn't find words to describe. “It’s- good, just. Too much.” he trembled, trying to regain control of himself.

John chuckled, a bit more relieved, aware of his size “Sorry.” He dropped kisses about where he could reach “Tell me when you’re ready.”

“We have to move together.”

“Right.”

Sherlock dug his fingertips in the tender flesh of John’s waist and lower back and guided the movement of his hips, pushing up against it, slowly, slowly sliding the hot probe inside its hot glove.

It stopped when he reached the limit andit was completely inside. John released a big moan and let his head fall on Sherlok's pale chest. A smile spread through his face. He was dying to start moving, but just being there, inside his lover, was enough of and accomplishment. He combed some stray hair back and laid there waiting patiently. His arms were going to be sore the next day. Sherlock felt so satisfied being filled with John. and covered with him too. The parts of his brain running anxiety processes were being shut off one by one, he was breaking free of the ropes constricting him. It actually felt very good.

"It's in, Sherlock. You did very well."

"We."

"Whenever you're ready..."

"Up here."

Sherlock claimed his mouth that John surrendered happily. He kissed and kissed and kissed, roughly and deeply. He slided his hot and wet muscle in and out of John's mouth, resembling thrusting motions, making John's face to redden and heat up.

"We are ready."

John began to move with shallow controlled thrusts, accelerating at the start and decelerating at the end of each one. They fell seamlessly onto an easy rhythm, like a train on clattering tracks. It was a dance of pushing and pulling, oddly instinctual. It was improbable that their heavy breaths or breathy whimpers were saying anything intelligible, but there was still some communication going on. Sherlock’s working neurons registered it, and it was unexpected but welcome. How hands or any other part of the body, any minute shift of muscles below the surface, helped them dance together beautifully. Familiar in form, but intmate and unique in detail. He noticed the pattern in their story, they didn't read what was written for them, they wrote on the fly themselves. He too noticed the clear honey on the tip of his cock, oozing sour and salty,dripping on his belly. He might have felt gross or embarrassed, but now he felt oddly proud. He was liking this very much. The sliding was easier now, and the lube made it better. John was effectively stimulating erogenous zones he didn't even know he had. They were moving together, backwards and forwards, in and out, against each other, with each other. John was devoting himself to his happiness, Sherlock couldn't cope.

Distracted in the midst of everything, John spared a glance downwards, between their bodies, and as expected, they were joined in deep at one point. That secret and private place of the human body, was his point of contact with Sherlock, and the tought was too much. But also Sherlock’s penis got his attention. Long, wet and red from swelling and sensitivity. That sight was the bluntest evidence that he was doing it with a man. A man who he loved. And he couldn’t feel happier about it.

Another wave of lust washed over him and his eyes moved on their own, burning over Sherlock’s sweaty pearled skin. His hair was a dark mess sprawled on the sheets, framing his face, with a look that had no right to make John drool like that. His face was the most marvelously erotic thing that John had ever seen in his life. Some women who he had dated faked it, and he had always been told that men were too sober in bed. This was a completely different and special experience. Sherlock was. His face was a bit of nerves, and lots of unfiltered pleasure flowing freely and smoothly. He was open in a way that he could not be anywhere else, and opening those doors was a brave and difficult choice. The strongest of emotions were pounding inside him, with every heartbeat, all the blood pumping through his veins poisoned with love and lust, and more things that he hadn’t felt before, but he embraced in the safety of John’s arms.

John saw that, and something inside him popped, his bubble burst. This was not an exercise, or a chore. For him this was about Sherlock, about them. “Wait. Wait up.” He shifted his legs and moved his weight. He removed his left hand form the damp muscle clamp of his knee, and slid the back of the thigh to rest against his shoulder and side. He was surprised of the endlessly going flexibility of Sherlock’s legs. He cupped his cheek with that hand, leaned closer and kissed him. Because making out to infinity didn't seem enough, each time was a little different. His hand hesitated between pulling him closer to his lips or running his fingers through silken locks. He kissed with all the love and all the strength that he had left in him. Passionate but tender, desperate but patient, taking, but at the same time, giving.

Sherlock tried to but couldn’t kiss him with such energy. He was too far gone already, dancing through the stars by John’s hand, swimming around, light as a bubble. His hands hesitated back and forth on John’s back, before settling one on his neck and the other on the waist, following the undulating movement. He eagerly pulled him forward, carding his fingers through short strands. John's nape was sweaty, everything was sweaty, but Sherlock did not care about getting his hands wet. He would gladly lick away on any substance that came out of John’s body. Gross, maybe, but what could he say? That’s what love did to him.

Both of their names, different words of adoration and praises were woven in among the lattice of pants, whimpers, gasps, whines and moans. At some point, the need to breathe made verbal communication impossible, and they communicated in the language of the body. Hands roaming and caressing, tugging, fingers pressing in the hot skin, tiny shifts of muscles, a leg that wrapped itself firmly around John's hips, and at least a hundred different kinds of hums. The air was hot and humid, concentrated around them like it didn’t dare leave their bubble. Their semi-steady cadence had been going for what felt like an eternity, when their eyes opened clear. Clear in the middle of a tunnel with a light at the end, the only clear point to go to, a light that was the meeting point between them.

“Are you there yet? How are you going?” Sherlock just whined longly. “I’m- I’m close Sherlo-ock. Are you? Is it good-”

“Yes.” breathy and desperate.

John nodded. He started increasing the pace pushing in deeper with the last sense left in him. Sherlock tightened his limbs around him to move as a unit. John's cock had a more oblique trajectory and hit a different spot inside him. They ran alongside each other, but also towards each other. All kinds of sounds, within or not in the usual vocal range, wove themselves together as they poured from their mouths, making a stave with their own song written on it. Moving with their foreheads pressed together, crushing John’s fringe, damp with sweat, like they had been doing it for years. The whole world narrowed down to a single objective, more animalistic than sentimental. Sherlock started to feel that familiar burning sensation, boiling deep in his belly, then expanding like waves of sound through his entire body. He was getting closer, tighter, tension coiling in him, itch fighting to be released, he knew there was no stopping now. He rutted up against John's skin and pushed back on his thrusts. Right before stepping off the precipice, the focus of the world changed again.

"Open your eyes, John look at me." John's eyes and lashes were moist, his irises contained galaxies and nebulas, his mouth was hanging open too and his skin flushed. He was too beautiful to be deserved. Sherlock spilled over the edge, broke the dam, pulled the plug. He moaned "J-John!" The tsunami of orgasm crashed and flooded every part of his being. It was so earth shattering that his brain went completely offline for a bit, only seeing pleasure, vibrating, buzzing, spinning, slipping out of control. Better and healthier than morphine or cocaine, specially when shared with somebody who you love. Because he had let John see that happen, in his arms, thanks to him, because of him.

John lost control, pushed in really deep, and thrusted even though it seemed impossible to get his cock any deeper inside the tightened tunnel of muscle. John came too with a cry "Sherl-Sherlock!" Rockets launched from his groin, sparklers crackling in his ears, colors invaded his vision, burning him up like wildfire.

They found each other in a kiss, that was like saving each other from falling, and landing together. It tasted a lot different, and, for some reason, tears builded up. John's body was beyond exhausted so he collapsed onto Sherlock's chest, which made for a pretty good cushion, and rested his head against his. Then the laughing started. Carefree and euphoric and marvellous. Maybe it wasn't as perfect as it could be, but it was a bloody good first time. Maybe there wasn't an epic 'marry me' at the end, but there were them, laying there with no intention of moving, bodily fluids sticking between them, hands caressing tenderly, muscles softening, breathings and hearts syncing.

"We did that. Oh my god, we actually did all of that."

"We did. Yes we did."

"Oh, god. I love you so much." he kissed his neck.

"That was amazing! Incredible, John! We should do that more."

John chuckled "Sure."

They had to eventually pull apart, the room was chilly, and they had to clean up the mess drying on their skin. After the orgasm everything was easier. With rose-coloured glasses, everything was right in the world, the bed was paradise, the body was made of cotton, and the air smelled of sweets. They gravitated back together once again laying down on their sides under the covers. Smiling dumb and ready to gaze stupidly into each other's eyes until they fell asleep like teenagers. Sherlock reached and touched, and had the final proof that this was real and not a dream. John accepted his touch as if it were nothing, he didn't just want him during sex, he wanted him every second of his life, the war was over. Sherlock embraced him with his long limbs, making them one single being again.

"Guess what, I love you."


End file.
